


Pretty

by dapperoctopus



Category: Batman (Movies - Nolan), Batman - All Media Types, Dark Knight Rises (2012)
Genre: Anxiety, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Flashbacks, Gen, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, Kid Fic, Pedophilia, i guess?, that's a really cautious tag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-29
Updated: 2015-06-29
Packaged: 2018-04-06 18:00:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4231443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dapperoctopus/pseuds/dapperoctopus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Talia is feeling unsure of herself, and of her relationship with Bane. He reassures her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pretty

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this roughly around the time DKR came out and only recently stumbled onto it again. There wasn't much I could do for it other than fix misspellings and tidy up incorrect grammar and the like. I think it's readable now.

"Do you think I'm pretty?" Talia recalls asking Bane this when she was still young and unsure, her stomach all in knots with that childlike uncertainty that comes with thinking good things only come to beautiful people. Even in that prison, isolated from the cancer of modern media, she had been taught to believe a woman was only as valuable as her body. The need to be wanted, loved, pretty, wasn't going to die, even when she was kept out of the reach of all but a select few individuals. Her little chubby hands were dirty, very dirty like every other part of her body exposed to life in the Pit, but that didn't stop her five year-old self from poking at her own cheeks and brushing her fingers through short cropped hair in an attempt to rearrange anything that might displease him.

Her lower lip quivered from the enormity of importance she was placing on his answer. Wanted, loved, pretty. It was all the same. She just feared she was none of them, and she wanted-- no, needed Bane's approval. She felt sick, like her insides were shriveling up. More than anything she feared being unwanted, unloved, ugly. She fidgeted with the grimy hem of her shirt, so filled with anxiety she thought it would burst out of her mouth and her eyes, her ears, her nose, spill from every pore and shoot from the tips of her fingers until nothing in the prison was left untouched by the sickness of it. Bane hadn't answered her yet.

"Bane, I asked you something. Bane, didn't you hear me... Bane? I asked, do you think I'm pretty?" She pressed him, her hands all balled up in her lap. She sat cross legged, the bottoms of her bare feet black from shuffling around her cell, contemplating her question. Tears stung against the back of her eyes but she choked them down. Bane was staring at her.

His eyes seemed to gleam in the weak light, long lashes casting shadows on his cheeks. His nose was straight and nondescript. His brows were unusually well-groomed. His mouth curved slightly at the corners, in a perpetual smirk. His cheeks were covered in rough stubble, a product of days without a shave. He sat against the wall, sprawled out, languishing in a blatantly comfortable way, something that looked almost grotesque considering where they were. His right knee was pulled up, his hand resting there, fingers dangling. His other leg was stretched out, his arm thrown across the slightly protruding ledge that ran around the bottom of every wall in the prison. His head lulled to the right as he continued to stare at her.

He was going to speak, Talia could see it in the way he set his mouth and the bob of his Adam's apple as he swallowed thickly, so she remained quiet and looked back expectantly. She pulled her bottom lip between her teeth, biting down just hard enough to be uncomfortable. Bane sucked in a deep breath, his eyes drifting shut a moment. When they opened again, it was with new intensity, all determination and fire. He shifted his limbs slowly, until he sat in a position that mirrored her own. He shifted closer until there was merely an inch of air separating their knees.

For the thousandth time, Talia was struck by how large he was. Her hand could still fit perfectly in the center of his, where the pads of his palm left an indent in the middle. Like that, the tips of her fingers had never been able to touch the base of his. The hardness of his muscles under the thick cloth of his clothes baffled her. "Like stone," She had mumbled the first time she ran to him in fear, horrified by the atrocities committed in the prison, holding onto him for support. Even with hot, salty tears stinging her eyes and a lump in her chest she was left with a vague sense of wonderment. She barely reached mid-thigh. Bane was colossal.

Now though, his broad shoulders slouched as if her question had struck him like a physical blow. His hands clenched and unclenched in his lap, making tendons jump and muscles tense all along his forearms. "Do I think you're pretty?" He repeated, his voice rumbling in the small space. He had the accent this place gave him, not quite English, not quite American, not quite Middle-Eastern, not quite anything. It was a mix of the native languages of every prisoner there, an amalgamation of his upbringing, a blending of their tongues. It was something altogether unique to him. Talia took a small amount of comfort in the familiarity of the rumble, the gentle lull of it.

She nodded once, over articulating the gesture to make sure he didn't miss it. Not that he really ever would, his eyes keen, honed by the darkness he was raised in, like Talia herself. But she had to be sure. "Do I think you're pretty...", this time it wasn't a question and more a curious statement. Talia waited.

Bane reached toward her, his warm, callused hand cupping her cheek, holding her gaze in his. His eyes searched her face and he made a rather theatrical show of pretending to look for the answer there. After an excruciating moment his face finally split into a crooked grin, his eyes crinkling up at the edges, warmth radiating outward from him. Little Talia was happy to bask, albeit only briefly, in the love her only friend was only too willing to shower over her. Momentarily her anxiety abated.

"My dear, pretty doesn't begin to describe everything you are, and everything you will be. You're brilliant, you're strong, fast, cunning, brave... Affectionate, kind, loving... Pretty, Talia, is too slight of a word. You're beautiful, child. Perfect in every conceivable way." Bane's thumb brushed lingeringly over her skin as he pulled away, and Talia automatically leaned in closer, instinctively seeking the warmth of another human. Bane took note of the slight movement, and then took advantage of it. He rearranged himself, making a niche for her against his side. She crawled to him, resting her head on his chest, his arm draped around her. Her breath was hot on his skin, and despite himself he chuckled at the way her tiny fingers knotted in the fabric of his cloak. Quietly, so only he could hear among all the bodies shoved in the Pit, she whispered "Thank you."

Bane's stomach jumped and roiled in a way he didn't quite understand, and he patted her thin arm in response. So innocent. Dangerously close to naïveté.

Of course, that was many years ago, and time had dulled the pleasant warming effect of the memory. Now, it was merely a reminder of the people that time could have molded. Of what Bane could have been, of what she herself had made him instead... Talia sighed, rubbing her eyes and then pinching the bridge of her nose. The headache, that's what it was. The headache was making her so gloomy. She was turning happy memories into things they were not, while Bane suffered for it, pushed away time after time.

But no, she couldn't blame it on the headache. No matter how badly her temples throbbed, she had to admit it had been going on far too long for that.

"Guard." She called one of the large men stationed at her office door. He was tall and broad, generously muscled and armed to the teeth. Figuratively, he had more than a little blood on his hands. However, none of that intimidated her after all the time she had spent with the mercenaries Bane led. None of them were quite as large as him anyway.

"Ma'am?" He asked, his voice reminiscent of gravel under tires. Uncharacteristically, Talia bit her lip, not really certain whether or not she should give the order. Bane was at a trial, he liked to watch the proceedings, perhaps she shouldn't interrupt him... He wouldn't appreciate it. She stifled a groan, knowing he would, in fact, be thrilled (in his own way) by being able to see her, speak to her directly for once. Those gloomy thoughts hurt him more than they hurt her.

"Have Bane come here. I would like to see him. Use the word 'urgent.'" With her order issued she drummed her nails on the hard oak desk top. The guard nodded briskly, and was gone with a slam of the door. The silence afterward was stifling. With an unexpected wave of emotion she was struggling to contain herself. Her throat closed up and she felt a rush of blood to her head. She almost let tears slip down her cheeks. More and more frequently emotion struck her that way, without warning any pain she held inside came bubbling up to the surface and she had to choke it back down again in a hurry. Her misery was so often like that now, sudden and inconvenient, awful in its intensity. The last thing she wanted was for Bane to see her like that. The questions and concern that would come with such a situation would be... Overwhelming. Talia had to be stronger than that.

She forced in a few shaky breaths, dug her palms into her eyes, and waited. She rubbed her clammy hands on her jeans, chewing on her lip and sniffling all the while. Soon she looked almost calm, just disheveled. Talia closed her eyes, welcoming the familiar darkness... Even Bane wouldn't be able to tell she had fought tears only seconds before. She looked relaxed now, any trace of the onslaught gone from her eyes. She was good at hiding things now. Then again, she thought fleetingly, Bane was always good at discovering them.

"Ma'am." The gravelly voice of the guard cut through her reverie, and her head snapped up in surprise, as if she'd been slapped. He shifted from foot to foot in front of her, his hands twining together in a gesture she wasn't used to seeing from a man of his bearing. He waited a moment before speaking further, "Should I show him in then?" He asked. Talia's heart sank down to the sole of her foot, and she nodded. She was struck by the fact that she had no idea what she was going to say to her best friend. 'I'm sorry,' maybe, but that didn't seem good enough. 'I'm sorry' was too vast of a phrase, thrown around too carelessly and these days it was starting to feel more and more meaningless every time she said it. Apologizing wasn't enough of an apology. He deserved more than that. The guard shuffled toward the door. His clothes ruffled quietly under the sound of buckles and clasps rubbing and shifting; all the mercenaries wore heavy, durable clothes, metal pieces used almost superfluously.

By the time he was finally turning the handle of the door, Talia was using the rhythm he created to tune out the less than pleasant thoughts of Bane, though he was only seconds from being in the same room.

Swish swish clank, she wondered if he hated her yet, swish swish clank, if he could forgive such neglect, swish swish clank, the guard was at the door.

He pulled the door open, and there stood the monolith that was her best friend. He was wearing her favorite jacket, the one that made her think of the elegance of the historical French navy combined with the practicality of the American army in the first World War. He also had on the metal plated vest, strapped with leather, that did more to express his utilitarian personality than to protect his torso, and cargo pants tucked into heavy buckled combat boots. Half hidden on his right arm was a fingerless leather gauntlet, strapped tight... And then, of course, there was the mask.

All wires and thick tubing strapped over and behind his head, it looked like a spider crawling out of the maw of a beast. It constantly fed him a powerful anesthetic that kept his perpetual agony at bay or, at least, kept it at a manageable level. The thing was ugly, they both knew it, but they had grown accustomed to it in their own ways. Regardless, it dominated his face. His mouth, his nose, his chin, his cheeks, even his ears were lost to Talia. She had never realized how much you could miss a person's ears until she couldn't see his anymore. It was a silly thing perhaps, but she wanted nothing more in that moment than to touch them. The gentle curve of the shell, the ridges and cartilage and the soft lobe all quite suddenly seemed like a great loss. Silly, indeed.

All she had now were his eyes. Eyes that at that moment portrayed such a vast amount of intelligence and single-minded intent that Talia had to put a considerable amount of effort in to not dropping her gaze. That was new, the not being able to look him in the eye. Talia felt a sickening pang of guilt for letting herself drift so far away from him.

"You may leave." She said, glancing at the guard in what she thought to be a clever way of justifying looking away from her friend. Bane said nothing, but deftly stepped to the side to accommodate the other man, who hesitated before walking so close to him. Talia allowed herself an almost bitter smile; the men all feared him, as if he were something evil. She suspected they wouldn't if they knew him the way she did. When the man's footsteps stopped echoing down the hall, Bane nudged the door gently shut with his foot. Talia inhaled deeply, half wishing he would speak first, yet knowing he wouldn't. She was the one who had called him here, after all.

Talia formed the beginnings of several sentences in her mind and discarded each for various minor blunders, until finally she gave up trying to sound clever. Her posture collapsed in the straight-backed chair, her shoulders slouched and torso bent. She let out a great exhalation of breath, one syllable slipping from her lips.

"Hello."

Bane's eyebrows raised, and he shifted his weight to the balls of his feet. His fingers were hooked into the neck of his vest as he was prone to do when he was feeling nervous. It was his equivalent of biting his nails or the like, though she was the only one that knew it. He cleared his throat-- a mechanical growl-- and took a few heavy steps toward her. "Hello." He echoed, his voice all boiling honey and lead works now. Talia thought through her next move. She shifted in her seat, an approximation of what he had done with his vest.

"It seems they fear you'll kill them if they so much as breathe too loudly." She said conversationally, gesturing toward the door behind him. He rolled his shoulders. A shrug.

"Better to be feared than loved. Love breeds comfort. Comfort breeds mutiny, in a place like this, with people like these." He said matter-of-factly. She knew he was right, to a degree, but a shiver ran done her spine despite it.

"Then where does that leave us, my friend?"

Bane paused, his eyes searching her face. He so often seemed to find an answer there, that Talia had stopped questioning it long ago. He took another few steps, until finally he had to stop, as space would not further permit his movement. Her knees were brushing his shins and the sudden proximity made her breath hitch for a fraction of a second. He stared down at Talia, his form towering over her. She could feel the warmth he put off from that distance. The medicine that pulsed through his mask always kept him too hot, a product of the adrenaline it pushed through his veins. Better the heat than the pain, he had told her.

Bane was contemplating her question, why she asked it, what it meant, and how to respond. He was always so thorough when it came to talking with her these days that it usually took him a moment to properly formulate his answer... It wounded Talia, knowing she had distanced herself so far from him that even their most simple conversations were strained, rare as they were.

"Are we still comfortable?" His voice cut like a blade, the stoic indifference of a man ignored. Talia flinched.

There was a pause, and finally, finally, Talia found the words she needed, ones that had stuck with her since the first time she had uttered them; "Bane, do you think I'm pretty?" She asked it innocently, but the intent was obvious. Although an almost instantaneous wave of embarrassment crashed over her, she knew it was the right question. She was testing the waters, seeing if the connection they shared since her birth was still as great, as unbreakable. Investigating whether or not their bonds were still stronger than blood. Talia was giving him an invitation to come back into her life... Her brother, friend, protector, and occasional lover... Or he the opportunity to walk way, their relationship fading to nothing more than the mutual desire to destroy Gotham City. Though to be fair it was a desire Bane had out of loyalty to her. Talia tried to stopped rambling in her head, tried to stop quibbling semantics, and go blank. Waited.

Bane didn't hesitate for even a second, "Pretty will never compare to what you've become. You're everything I ever thought you'd be, and more. Perfect, perfect in every way." From the way his eyes wrinkled at the corners, Talia could see a smile graced his face beneath the mask.


End file.
